“Can we get started? We only have a couple of days.” Raphael herded Francine to a table where several very rich fabrics had been laid out. “Do you like any of these, love?” he asked her, running his fingers across the fanned display of silken cloth.
Jacques Pierre swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Mr. Boudreaux. I don’t know if I can help you today, either.”
Francine understood the problem immediately. Mr. Jacques Pierre would not be allowed to even acknowledge her existence if he hoped to have any further business from her prestigious family. Everyone knew what happened when an unfortunate family member was permanently ostracized from a prominent house, even if that house’s seat of power was on a neighboring planet.
“Give me a moment, love,” Raphael said to Francine and stepped away to discuss in loud whispers how basically the cow was going to eat the hay.
Mr. Jacques Pierre was resistant until Raphael, with a quick look over one shoulder at Francine, pulled him out of range of her hearing.
Francine wondered if there was about to be a fistfight, but the two men had what looked to be a civil conversation.
At one point, Mr. Jacques Pierre’s eyes got very wide, but eventually he dropped his head and nodded. More loudly, Raphael said, “Excellent. Thank you for your cooperation.” His tone was slightly exasperated, almost snarky. The designer didn’t look happy, but whatever Raphael had told him clearly convinced the man to help them with their wardrobes.
Francine had brought a nice dress she’d planned to wear at the wedding and reception. It was a never-worn gown donated by Lucy from a large trunk she’d brought to the Earth. It was a sleeveless, jet-beaded, jade-green, form-fitting affair with a short, see-through yoke cape trimmed with the same jet beading. Stunning, but fashion from a couple of years ago. She didn’t care, but others might.
Lucy said it was a fancy dress for her Fancy sister. Francine smiled in memory. It would have worked for her purposes, but even the lowest priced dress in a place like Jacques Pierre’s shop would be so much better.
Mr. Jacques Pierre stalked across the room to the front door. He put the closed sign facing out and pulled a shade down so no one could see inside.
“Now,” he said. “What did you have in mind?”
“In addition to the royal wedding attire we need in two days’ time, I’d like wardrobe enough for a week for each of us,” Raphael said.
The proprietor sighed. “The good news is I can get you each a week’s worth of clothing for travel easily enough. The challenge will be getting your wedding clothing made in such a short time.”
“We can start right now with fittings.” Raphael shrugged out of his jacket and dropped it on the back of an ornate chair.
Jacques Pierre didn’t look relieved. “I assume you are planning on attending the Duvall-Roth wedding, yes?”
They both nodded.
“I made the wedding dress and all the clothing for both families.”
Raphael shrugged. “Great. Then you know exactly what to make so we’ll fit in.”
Francine understood what the designer wasn’t saying. “He can’t make clothing for us that will rival what’s already been created.”
“Why not?” Raphael asked, but his expression said he knew why.
“I’m merely saying your fabric choices will be extremely limited.” The designer pointed to the table. “All of these were used in various designs for Miss Duvall’s wedding.”
“Then why are they all front and center in your store?” Raphael asked.
Francine put a hand on his arm. “In two days, directlyafterthe wedding, whatever my family wore will be a hot product for everyone else with the means to pay for it. Right?” she asked the proprietor.
He nodded.
“Now I remember one of the reasons I hated—” Raphael cut himself off and turned to Jacques Pierre with a manufactured smile. “Please show us what our choices are.”
Jacques Pierre motioned them toward the back of the store, and led them through a set of lacy curtains and down a hallway with five doors on either side, likely the dressing rooms. They all filed through an open door at the end of the hall. Francine stared in amazement at the trove of what could be every fabric ever made in the galaxy.
The room was large, at least three stories high, with library ladders to reach the highest shelving that housed material from corner to corner. She’d never seen so many bolts of fabric in her life. She’d been to a number of fancy designers throughout the galaxy, when she’d been one of the Duvall Five.
Jacques Pierre led them to the left-side corner, where he climbed the ladder to the third row and pointed to a shelf. “From this shelf down will be your only choices.”
Francine scanned the shelves and saw several possibilities.
